What happened last night?
by fnaomi
Summary: Hangover's not a pleasent feeling, especially when you can't remember back, what happened last night. Questions come to your mind, like where are your pants, and why's another man snorting next to you? Spy/Scout
1. Chapter 1

_A million and one thanks to Maggot Magnet for beta-reading my fanfiction, and turning into something enjoyable ^^_

* * *

It was Friday night, which meant not only the start of the weekend, but the occasional poker party too. After battle the BLU team gathered together in the strategy room, bringing along their brain-destroying alcohol and little junks for the debt. The eight mercenaries took their seats and were about to play...

"Wait, boys! Where's our, er, Scottish friend?" asked Engineer, while shuffling the cards. Everyone shrugged to the question, then turned their heads around in the room, - some of them even checked under the table too - but they couldn't find the drunk man.

The Texan dropped down the cards with an angry sight. "Ah think it's best if I check 'im out."

Then a familiar voice boomed through the hallway outside; "Hold on laddies, I'm coming!"

An overexcited Demoman burst into the room with a big crate of bottles in his hands.

"Holy Dooley!" gasped a very startled Sniper with a slap to his forehead. "Mate, that's too much - even for _you!_"

"Hohoho, but them bottles ain't only fer me, y'see," replied Demoman with a huge grin. "Las' Sunday I found a ver' nifty shop, and look what I bought!"

Everyone leaned closer to the bottle Demoman took out - it had a strange green color, and on the side of the bottle was the word 'Absinthe' in faded letters.

"I kept 'em just fer th' poker night." His eye darted around the room. "So! Who's goin' t' have our first sip, eh?"

"Halt!" shouted Medic as he nearly rocketed out of his chair. "Zis is best consuming from a frosted glass!"

"Didn't know you're into this stuff, Doc," Engineer muttered in surprise.

"Oh, it's very delicious! And it takes you in the mood really quick," chuckled the German.

In a few minutes Medic returned, and told the others that it needs time for the glasses to be ready.

"Let's take a little warm-up until, then!" said Soldier with a smile. He popped open his beer and held it high for an obligatory team 'cheers'! After the klincks resided, the game began.

Luck was increasingly different from person to person (though a certain Frenchman had more 'luck' than the others), but they all spent these poker nights in a good mood. In fact, it was a great opportunity for them to get to know each other. Even though they work together for two years now, every night someone had a new story about his past and the others never hesitated to listen.

But that night, after Heavy told his story - he killed a great bear in Russia in a snow storm as a baby (he wasn't kidding) - the group started to split up: Soldier spoke to Heavy and Demoman about his war path (as usual), Engineer discussed DNA with Medic, and Pyro cheerfully mumbled to a very complacent Sniper. Only Scout and Spy remained silent. This was also the part when the game died out, so they were just talking and drinking. The young Bostonian looked from one to another, but he didn't feel like joining anyone. He took a quick glare at the man next to him, and it seemed Spy was quite pleased with his own company. What should he do? Sitting around and drinking in himself was too lame, but he couldn't come up with anything to say - usually he's bursting with jokes and insults and all sorts of things, but today he was at a loss.

"Doc, are those glasses frosted already or what?" asked Scout aloud.

"Huh? Oh! Ja, ja, I bring zem immediately!" The doctor suddenly became very excited and returned with the glasses in a blink. He served them for everyone, and Scout noticed something glimmering on the brim. In curiosity he licked it - sugar. The Absinthe bottle traveled around by the table and soon every glass was filled.

"Cheers, mates!" said Demoman joyfully and sipped out his share. Some of the men examined the liquid suspiciously, but eventually they all drank it.

"Who wants another round?"

* * *

He promised himself he won't be drunk again. He drank every time very cautiously, let himself become only a little dizzy, and always remained the most clearheaded among the others. But when he opened his eyes, and a few moments later a stabbing pain hit his head, he knew that promise was no more. And god how he regrets it!

Spy closed his eyes while moaning in pain, and mumbled a few curses in his mother language. The french layed like this for a minute, then tried to sit up, but he couldn't move. Not because of the hangover, but something heavy was on him. He leaned up as much as he could, and after his gaze became clear, he examined the foreign thing on himself: it was Scout, laying across on his body. Spy fell back and his head started to hurt much more as he tried to remember back, what in Blutarch's sock happened.

* * *

"I want!" shouted Scout waving to Demoman.

"You can have my share, if you like this toxic that much," said Spy, and he tossed his glass to his neighbor.

"Why don't _you_ drink it, dunghead?" Scout grinned. "It's friggin' _great!_"

"Listen to the boy!" said the one-eyed drunkard. "Don't hurt my feelings, lad! Drink fer us!"

Every eye in the room was glued on the hesitant Frenchman who wasn't too comfortable with the situation at all. He hated if people forced him to do things he disliked, and this was no exception.

"Come _on,_ dude," whined the young Bostonian. "It's only this glass, and you don't have to drink more if you don't like it."

* * *

_I should've drank only one glass. Even better - I shouldn't have drank anything at all,_ thought Spy.

Making an attempt, Spy leaned up as much as he could and pulled out his hands from under Scout to shake him up.

"Scout," said the man in a gruff voice. "Scout, wake up."

The young man growled as he held up his head, but buried his face into the blanket in that instant he felt the rush of pain travel to his temples.

"Awwww _maaaaan,_" moaned the young man in the same gruff voice as Spy. "My head's gonna explode."

"I share the feeling with you, but please, get off me," said the french in an irritated voice.

The bostonian knelt up slowly, and fell down next to the other with a big thud.

_Well, at least I'm free now,_ thought the Frenchman.

"Duuuuude..." growled Scout, laying on his side and looking up. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Hey. Where's your face?"

Spy's eyes grew wide and snapped his hands to his face. His balaclava was missing.

* * *

Well that didn't really bring things further, because he was still sitting there on his own with the second glass of Absinthe in his hand, and none gave a single damn about him. Spy was very displeased for drinking the green alcohol, so trying to talk to the fuming man seemed impossible. At least it seemed for a moment.

"This is getting boring," the Frenchman staring in front of him said blankly.

Scout didn't know if the man was talking to him or not, but replied nonetheless. "You can just leave if you want, ya know."

"True. That's why I'll go now," said the tall man as he stood up. "You don't have to stay either."

"Yeah, and then do what? Go to sleep?" asked Scout in a mocking tone.

"No, something more...exciting," replied Spy with a smirk.

Before Scout could say anything, the taller man ordered him to bring their glasses, then went to Demoman to excuse him for leaving. As they left the room the Bostonian wanted to ask Spy, why the hell he bothered to say anything to the cyclops, but when he noticed the unopened Absinthe bottle in his hand, it all became clear.

A big smile appeared on Scout's face. "Smooth."

* * *

"And where are your pants?"

"Don't make this worse! Just shut up!" the Frenchman shouted nervously as he held his head. The pain was unbearable and he also started to tremble. How shameful.

"I think I'm going to throw up," the Bostonian moaned weakly, clutching his stomach.

"Oh, no, you don't!" shouted Spy again. "I won't allow you ! This morning is already like a nightmare!"

Scout pulled up his knees to his forehead and whimpered. The tall man raised from his bed, but he felt very unbalanced and quickly sat back. "All right, you can do this…" he encouraged himself, "Ahhh my head!" This isn't going to work, he just simply can't move further. Maybe he should sleep back, gather some energy...

* * *

The sky was clear and starry. This was one of the things Scout liked about the countryside; in Boston you can't even point out an alien ship, because with all the city lights the sky is plain blank. Spy deeply inhaled the smoke then let out slowly and watched as the young man gazed the stars.

"What are you starin' at?" asked Scout rudely as he noticed he's been watched.

Spy smirked. "A donkey."

"Hardy har har. Real funny. Any more ancient jokes, old man?"

"Unfortunately, none that come to my mind," grinned the Frenchman.

"So where's the excitement? Oh wait, I know! You're going to pull out from your sleeves like the Aces in poker."

"Hah, and I thought my jokes are bad."

"Yeah. They are."

Spy chuckled a little, drew a last from his cigar and threw it on the dirt. He then took out his cards from his coat and looked around to find a seating place. The crates seemed perfect for the matter.

"Let's play a game, shall we?" suggested Spy, and kicked a small crate to the biggest one where he took a seat.

"No way," Scout replied. "Yer gonna cheat. I know it."

"In this game I can't cheat. If you'd take a seat, I can demonstrate you zhe rules."

The young man hesitated a bit, but eventually brought a crate and sat in front of his teammate. Spy showed him a game called "Speed", which meant each of them owned a deck, and they had to flip the cards until they put down the same card, then somebody had to shout "Speed" before the other, and the slow one had to pick up the collected deck. This also applied to the one who shouted "Speed" in the wrong time.

"Let me guess, the loser always had to take a sip from this," pointed the young man to the green liquid.

"Bravo, you are correct."

"Oh man," grinned Scout as he rubbed his gauzed-up hands together. "You're _so_ going to regret this. Speed's my skill."

* * *

An hour later Spy woke up again. His head still throbbed like hell, but at least he didn't tremble. Scout was sleeping like an innocent child, and fortunately didn't mess up the room yet. Slowly the Frenchman began to get up, and realized he was still a little shaky as he reached his wardrobe. He felt more clothed with his balaclava on than with his pants on. Now he only needs to go out from the room, throw up in the bathroom, bring a bucket and a bottle of water, fall back to sleep...

The door didn't budge. He turned the lock from left to right, but nothing. The only logical explanation would've be that someone locked the door with a key outside, which means he's trapped in the room. But who the hell closed them in?

"Oh mon _dieu,_ what _happened_ last night?"


	2. Chapter 2

Spy was trapped.

His only chance was if someone walk by his room - he'd bang on the door and scream for help. But not a single noise arose from the outside of the room so far. Twenty minutes ago he looked out from the window, but nobody wandered outside. Though his room was on the second floor of the base, he considered climbing out, but with a hangover like this he'd surely fall down and break at least half of his bones. He had also repeatedly tried to picklock the door with a bobby pin that just happened to be in his click-open disguise kit, but the lock seemed too complex - after all, it was _designed_ to keep away Spies. So it seemed that there was nothing left to do but wait for an opportunity to escape.

* * *

More than half of the bottle-up Absinthe had been glugged down, but that didn't stop Spy and Scout from drinking more. The goal was to destroy the bottle's content. But after an hour of card games, it was time to find another excitement - and the Frenchman already knew what _that_'ll be.

It's a basic equation. More alcohol equals more rowdiness. As the mercenaries got more drunk, they became more cheerful and loud. They sang a German pub song Medic taught them, and Engineer accompanied them with his guitar. It was hard to tell which was worse: the made-up lyrics or the made-up tones. Nevertheless, this didn't bother the men at all, they enjoyed themselves far too much.

After they've finished singing, Medic got up and headed for the bathroom, and on his way he bumped into a very disturbed Pyro.

Pyro cocked the mask with a whine of "Whmmm mm, dmm?"

"Pyro, bitte, slow down! I can't understand you at all!" Medic snapped to his mumbling buddy.

Pyro repeated the problem again, louder this time. "WHMMM MM, DMM!?"

The doctor shook his head and shrugged. "A bounty was placed on Spy's head for stabbing tourists in the back?"

In this point, Pyro was so angry that the unthinkable had been done: the mask was pulled off.

Medic gasped. "GAA_AAAAH!_"

"I said 'what's up, doc?' Jeez, it's not rocket science or anythin', ya know."

Medic's eyes were wide. "Pyro...ist...wha...I...S-_Scout?_"

"Derp dee duh, doofus. Who do I look like, Santa? Man, you're real slow," fumed Pyro, and slipped the gas mask back on.

Suddenly, the doctor burst into hoots of realization-laughter. "Wait! You...aha! I get it! Very good vun, Scout. And to zink, for a moment zere I thought - "

"DO I look like a loudmouthed bastard to YOU?" shouted Pyro as the mask was pulled off again, wearing Soldier's face this time. "You godDAMN Germans think that yer so _smart,_ but I can outsmart you blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back! Hell, I did it in World War One and Two and - "

"But-but, how - "

"Shut your_ mouth_ when _I_ am_ talk_ing!"

"Zis...impossible..."

"_Down_ - and give me _twenty!_" ordered a very patriotic Pyro and Medic sank to the floor in shame.

"Ja...?"

"Now_ push,_ maggot, and count _loud!_"

"E-ein, zwei, drei, vier, fünf..." huffed a very disturbed Medic. Moments later, as he looked up to see Soldier's assurance, the other man was gone. He shakily stood up and tried to gather his remained sanity, but when Pyro appeared again, he trembled in fear.

"Leave za mask on,_ leave za mask on!_" screamed Medic in terror, and he ran off to find the bathroom and throw up.

Just as Medic left, a duet of maniacal laughter sounded from the next room. The firebug checked out the hall, and he found Spy and Scout laughing in tears, almost rolling on the floor. He asked the two why they were laughing and between two giggles Scout replied that they're 'just playin'.'

"Cmhn Mh plmmh?" asked Pyro, clapping the gloves together.

"I think we're done playing," replied Spy as he wiped a tear from his eye.

"Unless ya got any other game ideas," Scout added with a wide grin on his face.

Pyro jumped up and down in joy and mumbled about a great new game they can play. Playing with a pyromaniac? This should be fun.

* * *

_Clnk, shmmk, clnk, smmk, clnk..._

Could it be? The sound of rubber soles, the rustle of pant leg against pant leg - footsteps,_ at last!_

Spy began to bang on the door frantically with shouts of "HELP! HELP!".

The man outside stopped by the noise.

"Spy? Ist zat you?" asked a very German voice at the other end of the door. The doorknob turned but, with a click, failed to open.

"Docteur, I need the key for the door! Now!" commanded Spy. "You 'aven't zhe slightest idea 'ow_ long_ I 'ave been _waiting!_"

"Ja, ja, fine. A key? It isn't in yah room?"

"What do you zhink? I couldn't quite find its place, so probably not."

"Wait. I vill ask the others for help. Give me a moment." Those were the last words Spy heard before Medic scurried off.

Oh, great. More waiting.

* * *

"When you said we were gonna play a cool game, I didn't think ya friggin' meant we were gonna dress up freakin' dollies," Scout bickered.

Pyro's doll, whose arm was torn off and body stained with blood, hopped across the floor to her Engineer-built mechanical car. "Mmmghie mmsh gmng tmh wmmrk!"

"Come on, Spy, let's prank the old guys," said the Bostonian as he stood up, but Spy doesn't seemed to care. In fact, he poured the green liquid into Pyro's polka-dottie baby cup, and sipped out its contents with a weary sigh.

"Mmpf pff mp mmm?"

"Mr. Engibeer doesn't like his...er, green tea. So I'm drinking his share."

"You've got to be kidding me, Spy," sighed Scout. "Dat's, like, depressin'."

"Your tea's ready, mon ami," said the french to him, and he poured Absinthe into the baby cup yet again. Spy held it up to Scout as an attempt to make him stay. It worked.

After thirty minutes nothing mattered. If anybody would've asked him to jump into a pit full of Spycrabs, Scout would've did that just for the fun. He was hiccuping with eyes yellow as street lights. The Absinthe bottle was almost empty.

Pyro suddenly jumped up as he heard the clock ticking midnight. He mumbled something nervously and asked the others to leave.

"What bothers you, _darling?_ Please, do tell," Spy asked him with excess sarcasm.

Pyro hesitated at first, but soon told them about a need to fulfill a 'ritual'.

"Ritual?" Scout repeated. "What for?"

"Phm!"

"Me? For you?"

"Nmh, nmh!"

Pyro became a little impatient, and told the two men to follow him outside. When they reached the little pumpkin field, he stepped next to the scarecrow and explained the ritual very precisely. In a mumbly nutshell: every week he dresses up the scarecrow as the Red Spy, then set it on fire while mumbling magic words. With this he attempts to curse his nemesis.

"Every self-respecting Spy deserves some clothes, yes?" Spy smiled, appearing to have warmed up to this game. "Let's give the gentleman a proper suit. Where's zhe clothes?"

Pyro shrugged. "Mh dmmnhm."

"But we can't leave da bastard _naked!_" whined Scout.

It was Pyro's game, so the answer was a bit angry. "Whmm _nmmt?_"

"What if he turns fireproof or some shit?"

"You're right." Their Spy rubbed his chin in mocking thought. "He would become a big threat to the team, yes? A fire-less Frenchman, running around and stabbing people and zhe such."

Scout pouted. "So what should we _dooooo?_"

"In some times a man needs to make sacrifices," said Spy in an overly dramatic voice.

Scout and Pyro gasped.

"I give my suit for the good cause."

* * *

Spy was jerked out of his sleep from hearing a loud clicking. He held up his head to see what's happening with his door, and after a few minutes the knob fell down.

"Sorry it took so long, mister," Engineer said as soon as he'd stepped into the room. "At least Ah fixed it some time or another."

"At last! I thought I had to jump out the window!" said the Frenchman with a grin, standing up from his bed. "I really appreciate your help."

"No problem," smiled the short man. "You had a good time with the kid yesterday."

"Yes, that..." Spy leaned closer to Engineer. "I want to ask you something."

"Sure. What is it, partner?"

"Please, be sincere; did you...see my face yesterday?"

The happy Texan's smile suddenly faded away and he looked down at the toes of his boots. After a long pause he nodded.

Spy sat down the bed's edge, buried his face in his hands and started to tremble.

"Are zhe...did zhe others see it too?" asked the Frenchman shakily.

"Ya don't remember, do you?" asked the hardhat with pity. "Ah'm afraid we did."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

They fell silent for some moment. Engineer had no clue what to say or do - but a certain someone else sure did.

"What are you crying for?" asked Scout, sitting up behind Spy. "It's just your stupid face. Big deal!"

"Everybody knows my identity now."

"So what?!" The Bostonian snapped up. "Are we a threat to you? You think we're gonna blackmail you? For fuck's sake, we are a _fam_ily!"

Spy shook his head and remained silent.

"Oh? So we're not a fuckin' family after all," said Scout in a shaking voice. He shook his head. "Thanks a lot, Spy. Backstabbin' bastard."

Scout simply got up and left without another word.

Engineer was about to go too, but he stopped at the doorframe and turned back to Spy.

"The boy's right, Slim. We are your friends and not your enemies," he said. "Learn to tell the difference."

* * *

Walking through the cold night air was very hard, but the two men safely get back to the base eventually.

"You think Demo's still got a a little booze?" asked Scout with a grin.

Spy shrugged. "Don't know, let's check him out."

So they headed back to the Strategy Room, where, surprisingly, everyone still was. Spy tried to greet his teammates, but mixed up the words.

"Er - uh, mentlegen?"

In a few seconds all the mercenaries fell in silence, and awkwardly stared at the Frenchman.

"Uh, dude," Scout began.

"Yes?"

"You're...sorta...uh...underclothed."

Spy looked down on himself and covered his lower parts with his hands.

"Heh...well. My pants 'ave appeared to burst into flames."


End file.
